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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663406">In the sea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldfrenchfries/pseuds/Coldfrenchfries'>Coldfrenchfries</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blue Period (Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Gen, I just love her??, If I get one person calling Yuka a slur I'm losing it, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Yuka's the best character in this series I swear, i guess?, it's not purely focused on the heavy stuff dw</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:27:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,493</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663406</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coldfrenchfries/pseuds/Coldfrenchfries</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>To be an angel meant being vulnerable.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In the sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I based this off of chapter 20 of the manga and just the chapters focusing on Yuka in general because I just find her character really interesting</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It felt ridiculous, right? Running away? </p><p>A cold wind blew across her side of the room. She watched as her reflection shivered, as goosebumps ran up her arms. The smell of sea salt filled her nose as the cool breeze kept blowing across her side. She almost laughed, the absurdity of the situation was finally getting to her. She actually ran away from home. </p><p>Out of all the places she could have ended up, she landed at the beach. </p><p>In the middle of winter. </p><p>At least she wasn’t alone though, that was nice. </p><p>Yuka could hear the scratching of Yatora’s pencil behind her. She didn’t have to see him to know his expression. His face would be scrunched in that thoughtful focus he wore when he was doing something he was passionate about. During their first years of high school, she had only seen that focus during exams. She almost thought it was cute that Yatora had that look in his eyes when he was caught up in drawing as well. </p><p>She thought about Mori, how her art was what flung Yatora into the world of art. Her angel paintings were beautiful, the way they were positioned, the look of almost human wonder in their eyes, it was all so captivating. It was all so wonderful. No wonder Yatora fell in love with art after that. </p><p>The first time Yuka saw Mori’s paintings, she was fourteen. She had just entered high school at the time, had just started dressing the way she wanted, started to be seen the way she wanted. The response to Yuka’s new style was met with a sense of bitterness to it. She had expected it. After all, most of the kids at school wouldn’t know genuine security in one’s self even if it smacked them across the head. </p><p>The bitterness though started to get to Yuka. It started to weigh on her, it pressed against her delicate shoulders, and made her wonder if this was the best direction to steer her life in. During those days, she thought about being seen as a boy again. Her parents would be overjoyed, no doubt about it. Their son would be ‘normal’ again. </p><p>The thought of being seen as that kid again made her sick. </p><p>It still did. </p><p>Mori was the one who started calling Yuka by her real name. They were alone in the art room when it happened. Yuka had come by to drop off her registration for the art club when Mori smiled at her kindly. She let Yuka see her latest angel and her eyes widened at the sight. </p><p>The woman in the picture was beautiful. Her auburn hair fell off in curls around her shoulders, the smile she had on reached her green eyes. Her white robes were spilling out towards the floor and her wings were extended outwards, almost like she was about to fly. </p><p><em>“I want to be as pretty as your angels…”</em> Yuka had said softly. </p><p>Mori only laughed. That sweet smile was on her face again and she brushed a loose strand of dark hair out of her eyes before looking at Yuka. </p><p>
  <em>“You’re already very pretty, Yuka-chan.” </em>
</p><p>That was the first time anyone besides her grandmother had called her by her name. Yuka blinked as her throat tightened. She stared at the angel as she tried her best not to let her senior see her sudden change in emotion. She wasn’t sure why she felt the way she did on that day. At first, she didn’t care if people wanted to call her Ryuji or Yuka, but for some reason, it meant everything when Mori said it. </p><p>It was like an angel had spoken. </p><p>“Ryuji?” Yatora’s voice snapped her out of her daydreams. </p><p>She rolled her eyes at that name but still answered. “Yeah, what’s up?” </p><p>“Don’t be mad.” </p><p>“About what?” </p><p>“I had a girl from my Japanese art class show me your drawings.” </p><p>Yuka sighed. “I can guess who…” </p><p>“I don’t wanna admit it,” Yatora said eventually, “but compared to your Dessins I thought your fashion sketches were way better. How come you picked Japanese art anyway?” </p><p>“Because my grandma likes Japanese art-” </p><p>“Oh come on-”</p><p>“It sounds ridiculous, right? But that’s the truth.” </p><p>Yuka suddenly felt like a child again. Maybe if she focused hard enough, she could regain the feeling of making art again. </p><p>“Although my parents are terrible,” she said sadly, “My grandma’s the only one that’s been on my side for everything. I love her, and I wanted to make her proud. That’s why I picked Japanese art, I even thought I wanted to do it for a living…” </p><p>Yuka blinked and forced the lump in her throat down. “But when I started prepping for exams, it became harder and harder to draw Japanese art. I don’t… Like that style… At all, really. When I realized that I didn’t know what to do. It was so painful to draw, but I didn’t want to betray my grandma’s wishes.” </p><p>“I ended up lashing out at Mrs. Saeki, you know. I was in so much pain at the time that her advice didn’t get through to me at all, I don’t even remember what she said. I’m no match for you Yatora, you’re always so dedicated to whatever you do.” </p><p>They talked for a while after that. Yatora admitted how scared he was to draw now, how scared he was that he might fail his exams and not get into Geidai. The conversation eventually cracked and changed to Yuka talking about the girl she always loved. Then she brought up her parents again. </p><p>She blinked away tears as she relived the memory of them throwing her stuff out. She could still feel the sting of her father's palm on her face. She could still hear her mother crying about how she brought their family shame. She could still feel the tears in her eyes as her grandmother looked at her with the sweetest smile in the world and showed that she had found her belongings. </p><p>It felt surreal how all of that had happened yesterday, but at the same time felt like it was a lifetime ago. Yuka felt her body shake. She watched her nude body break and crack in the mirror and she sniffed as her tears fell on her sketchbook. Even if the pain felt like it was from a lifetime ago, it still hurt. </p><p>“Ryuji… You okay?” Yatora must’ve heard her crying. Just fantastic. </p><p><em>“Yuka.”</em> She corrected through gritted teeth. “Don’t call me Ryuji, you idiot-” </p><p>“...Yuka, what’s wrong?” </p><p>“What do you think?” She snapped. “My parents are awful, I can’t get anyone to see… And it- it would just be so much easier if I didn’t look like this.” </p><p>Yuka sniffed again and wiped her eyes. “I told you before that the thought of fitting into what society wants me to be makes me sick to my stomach. But… Yatora, it’s <em>so hard</em> to be seen as <em>me</em> sometimes.” </p><p>“But forcing yourself into a category, just because it’s easier, would make you unhappy right?” </p><p>Her eyes widened and she turned around to face the screen dividing them. “W-What?” </p><p>“You know, I used to see you as a total weirdo. When we first met I saw you as some cross-dressing guy… But it’s different now. I understand now.” </p><p>Yuka wiped her eyes since they were filled with tears again and a small smile curled on her lips. Yatora understood her. That felt so weird.<br/>
 <br/>
She turned back to her mirror and looked at the body she made for herself. Her blond hair was spilling out over her shoulders, and her green eyes were red from crying. Her reflection showed all the vulnerable parts she kept hidden away. The scars from when she tripped as a kid, the smearing of pencil lead on her hands from drawing, all of the imperfections she disliked. </p><p>She thought about Mori and her angels. She made them as beautiful as she could, but also made them human at the same time. They were perfect but vulnerable. They had imperfections too, a signal that they were created by someone. Would an angel weep like she had? Would an angel feel like she did? She wasn’t sure, she couldn’t speak for angels. </p><p>She was far from being an angel, but for some reason, when she was fourteen a wonderful upperclassman said she was as pretty as one. </p><p>To be an angel… Meant being vulnerable. </p><p>It meant being who she wanted. </p><p>Yuka closed her sketchbook when she finished her drawing. Her tears had dried, and the cold breeze from the beach was still blowing into her side of the room. She shivered and got up to grab her clothes. She quickly got dressed and called out to Yatora, saying she was done with her drawing. </p><p>She looked at herself in the mirror. This was her. This was who she wanted to be. </p>
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